The Clock Strikes Midnight

Prologue

Someday, when I grow up, I wish to be a doctor. Preferably a psychologist. I want to help the people that suffer from mental problems. Like I did. I saw things for a while while I was a kid and a teenager. When the clock struck midnight, that's when it all started. Long, sleepless nights of endless agony. When the clock struck midnight, that's when it came out of it's hiding place, and had the nightly feast.

I had heard out about this thing before. They called it the, "Devourer". I didn't know if this was a reference to Egyptian mythology or not. But no, this was no machine. This was alive and well, waiting to feast on innocent souls through the night.

The Devourer had bright, yellow eyes that guided its way through the pitch black night. They say it has four rows of tiny, but razor sharp teeth. It looked like it had been mutilated, with long streaks of red down its sides and medium-sized holes where something dug out its organs. It has tons of hair all over its body and head. It's small, but extremely fast. They say it just looked like a tiny blur through the trees at night. It wears a disturbing-looking mask on it's face to hide it. The mask is white, with pitch black eyes and red, rosy cheeks. It has a malicious smile on it's face that tells you to run, and a small goatee on it's chin. His claws are also very sharp, and a very ready to slash through it's victims.

But I saw the mythological creature. And this is my story.

The Story

The clock struck eight, four hours left. I lay in my bed, texting Peter. He says I'm crazy. I always tell him how many hours are left until the feast. He always says, "Josh, it's just a figment of your imagination."

But no, he doesn't understand. This is all too real. I know I saw it. It disapears, but that is only because it's fast. It frightens me every night to talk about it. I only talk to Peter about it because he's my best friend, and he's really the only one I can trust with this kind of stuff.

The clock struck nine, three hours left. I feel strange, excruciating pain surge up through my lower back up to my back. Quick, but extremely painful. Maybe it's because of anxiety. I've survived the feast before, but for some reason, I'm not so sure this time.

I don't understand. It goes to me every night. Maybe it is attached to one person until it kills them. Every night I see the disturbing mask, and then the face... The horrible, nightmare-inducing face... Every night... I hit it, I scream at it, because there is no use running from it. You have to fight it.

The clock struck ten, two hours left. I start to tense up. I still talk to Peter in bed. He's about to ditch me and leave. Maybe I am crazy. But I know I'm not. There have been sightings of this thing by other people.

I don't know how I survive the attack. I always keep a loaded pistol by my bed, just in case. But this... This is unkillable. No one knows what to do about it. The only thing the pistol will do is stun for a couple seconds. If you fight off long enough, though, it'll flee back into the woods. Where it belongs.

The clock struck eleven, one hour left. I'm preparing for the nightly feast. I have the pistol, and a metal baseball bat.

When the feast hits, I may die a horrible death, and everyone will see my mangles body in my room. My mom and dad also think it's just my imagination. Maybe it is, maybe it's all just a terrible nightmare, considering no one can hear me scream.

The clock struck midnight, and the feast had begun. If I could fight this thing off for a certain amount of time, it may starve to death, and never put anyone in danger again.

I see a blur outside my window. He's getting ready to bust through my locked door any second now.

I face him. I pull out the pistol and he lunges at me. I shoot real quick in the head, and that gives me time to beat it with the baseball bat.

As I am beating it, it screams in agony. The scream is the most disturbing sound I have ever heard. It runs away quickly, and I hurry up and slam my door shut.

Another night I have survived the small beast. These are what you call 'casual' nights for me. Just another night of suffering.